Part 28 (1/2)

she answered huskily, as slowly, side by side, they strolled beneath the trees.

”It must be broken, whatever its nature,” he said quickly.

”Ah! I only wish it could be,” she answered wistfully, again sighing.

”I am compelled to wear a smiling face, but, alas! it only hides a heart worn out with weariness. I'm the most wretched girl in all the world.

You think me cruel and heartless--you believe I no longer love you as I did--you must think so. Yet I a.s.sure you that day by day I am remembering with, regret those happy sunny days in Berks.h.i.+re, those warm brilliant evenings when, wandering through the quiet leafy lanes, we made for ourselves a paradise which we foolishly believed would last always. And yet it is all past--all past, never to return.”

He saw that she was affected, and that tears stood in her eyes.

”Life with me has not the charm it used then to possess, dearest,” he said, in a low, intense tone, as together they sat upon one of the seats. ”True, those days at Stratfield were the happiest of all I have ever known. I remember well how, each time we parted, I counted the long hours of suns.h.i.+ne until we met again; how, when I was away from your side, each road, house and tree reminded me of your own dear self; how in my day-dreams I imagined myself living with you always beside me.

The blow came--my father died. You were my idol. I cared for nothing else in the world, and before he died I refused to obey his command to part from you.”

”Why,” she asked quickly, ”did your father object to me?”

”Yes, darling, he did,” he answered. This was the first time he had told her the truth, and it had come out almost involuntarily.

”Then that is why he acted so unjustly towards you?” she observed, thoughtfully. ”You displeased him because you loved me.”

He nodded in the affirmative.

”But I do not regret it,” he exclaimed hastily. ”I do not regret, because I still love you as fervently as I did on that memorable evening when my father called me to his bedside and urged me to give up all thought of you. It is because--because of your decision to marry this man, Zertho, that I grieve.”

”It is not my decision,” she protested. ”I am forced to act as I am acting.”

”But you shall never marry him!”

”Unfortunately it is beyond your power to a.s.sist me, George,” she answered, in a tone of despair. ”We love each other, it is true, but we must end it all. We must not meet again,” she added, in a voice broken by emotion. ”I--I cannot bear it. Indeed, I can't.”

”Why should you say this?” he asked, reproachfully. ”Loving each other as fondly as we do, we must meet. No power on earth can prevent it.”

They looked fondly into each other's eyes. Liane saw in his intense pa.s.sion and earnestness, and knew how well he loved her. Plunged in thought, she traced a semicircle in the dust with the ferrule of her sunshade.

”No,” she said at length, quite calmly. ”You must forget, George. I shall leave here to marry and live away in the old chateau in Luxembourg as one buried. When I am wedded, my only prayer will be that we may never again meet.”

”Why?” he cried, dismayed.

”Because when I see you I always live the past over again. All those bright, happy, joyous days come back to me, together with the tragic circ.u.mstances of poor Nelly's death--the dark shadow which fell between us, the shadow which has lengthened and deepened until it has now formed a barrier insurmountable.”

”What does Nelly's death concern us?” he asked. ”It was tragic and mysterious, certainly; nevertheless, it surely does not prevent our marriage.”

For an instant she glanced sharply at him, then lowering her gaze, answered drily,--

”Of course not.”

”Then why refer to it?”

”Because the mystery has never been solved,” she said, in a tone which surprised him.

”Where the police have failed we can scarcely hope to be successful,” he observed. Yet the harsh, strained voice in which she had spoken puzzled him. More than once it had occurred to him that Liane had never satisfactorily explained where she had been on that well-remembered evening, yet, loving her so well, he had always dismissed any suspicion as wild and utterly unfounded. Nevertheless, her statements to several persons regarding her actions on that evening had varied considerably, and he could not conceal the truth from himself that for a reason unaccountable she had successfully hidden some matter which might be of greatest importance.